Another Stephen Cobert

The year 2025 will be remembered (by me, anyway) as one for the record books. It was not the worst year of my life by far, but it was a year of incredible ups and downs.

To relate what happened in the year I have to go back into late 2024, when I took the Cologuard test for the second time, the first being in 2020. This time the test came back as Abnormal, and so a number of tests were prescribed for me. In early February I had a colon exam at Kansas Gastroentrology, and they discovered that, yes, I did have a tumor in my cecum that tested positive for cancer. Early stage cancer, perhaps, but cancer nonetheless. I was scheduled for surgery to remove the tumor at the end of March, but at the pre-op screening a week prior to the scheduled surgery an EKG revealed I had an irregular heartbeat and the surgery had to be postponed.

In mid July I had a procedure done in which one of my arteries was determined to be 90% obstructed, so a stint was placed in it. Ironically, shortly after that was done I noticed my stamina was really going downhill: I was getting winded just going up a single flight of stairs at my hotel. I wondered if the stint was hurting more than it was helping, but later on my ex-wife Martha told me something that put the matter into perspective. Martha is not an MD, but she is head librarian at the University of Tennessee Medical Library. She informed me that cancers will take ingested sugars for themselves, depriving other cells of the energy they need for everyday activity.

On Thursday, October 9, I went to Wesley Hospital in Wichita with the intemtion of going through a procedure to stabilize my irregular heartbeats. It had to be abruptly postponed when, during my preparation, it was discovered I was dangerously anemic. (They discovered my red blood cell level was 7.3%, where 7.0% is considered critical.) The decision was made to admit me to Wesley for treatment of the anemia. I was admitted and received one unit of blood that evening. The original plan was for me to stay all weekend and have the heart procedure the following Tuesday. But on Friday, Oct. 10, we got word that my cardiologist had given the green light for me to have the cancer surgery. So I was released that day.

On Wednesday, November 12, I was re-admitted to Wesley Hospital for the cancer surgery. The surgeon successfully removed the cancer - it turned out there were TWO tumors, not just one - and, as I believe is standard for these procedures, had to take out a small part of my small intestine and part of the colon to be sure all of the cancer was taken. The surgery was done in just a couple of hours, but I needed to stay some days in the hospital for recovery. I was put on a liquids-only diet (which I really started to detest after a few days of the same damn thing every meal). Worse yet, it turned out my lower digestive track had sort of "gone to sleep" following the surgery. While my surgeon informed me that this was normal and not permanent, it meant nothing that I'd eaten the first three days after surgery was going down, and they had to put a tube down my nose (hurts like hell) and into my stomach to draw all the not-fully-digested food out. (It's as much fun as it sounds like.) Luckily, by Sunday evening I was getting evidence that my lower digestive track was working again, and Tuesday evening I got to eat dinner again. (Liquids only, wouldn't you know. Oh well…) Wednesday morning I ate a regular breakfast of bacon and eggs with hash browns, oatmeal and milk, and later that morning I was realeased from the hospital.

As might be expected, there were follow-up visits with my doctors; as I write this there is a good chance I will be told I need chemotherapy. But there was one more matter that needed to be addressed: the heart procedure that was postponed from October 9 had to be performed. So on Tuesday, December 23, I was admitted to Wesley Hospital once again. This procedure entailed locating in my heart where the nerve signals were causing the excessive heartbeats to happen and actually burning or searing that area of my heart to stop the erratic beating. Rather than doing open heart surgery, the procedure entailed making an incision in my groin to access an artery to my heart, running a wire up the artery to my heart and detecting and burning the problem area from inside. A slight problem was that anesthesia would interfere with detecting the problem area. So the first part of the procedure had to be done with minimal or no anesthesia. But I'm pleased to say that, after what I'd guess was about a half hour of not-all-that-bad discomfort, the problem area was identified, I was given anesthesia and the procedure was completed. Once again the doctor wanted me to stay overnight for observation, but I was given the "okay" to go home the next day.

Yhere was a rather bizarre side effect of my cancer.

In January 2017 as part of a health and exercise regimen I had gotten my weight down to 207.2 lbs. That June I took part in the first 10K run I had done in 29 years and successfully completed it. Sadly, also in June my father passed away. My weight stated creeping back up, I'm sure because I was self-medicating with food rather than dealing with my feelings related to my father's passing away. In June of 2019 my mother passed away as well, and I made the same self-medicating mistake I'd made two years earlier. By 2022 my weight was back into the 280's: I had undone all of the weight loss I had achieved since 2013 when I started my health and fitness journey. By 2024 my weight was varying from the upper 260's to mid 270's - a bit of an improvement, perhaps, but still damn overweight.

So what, you ask? So this: On Jan.7, 2025, I tipped the scales at 267.2 lbs. For most of the year I ate without a second thought for health or well-being. Plenty of burgers, fries, fizz, milkshakes, pizza hot dogs, ice cream, etc, etc. And you know what? My weight dropped like a rock. If you read back a few paragraphs to the part about how cancers take in sugars and starve the healthy cells, I think that is what happened. As of December 30. my weight is 230.1 lbs. While that's still quite overweight, it is the least I have weighed since June of 2017.

This year, Wichita area high school students had a competition to design the stickers that voters would receive on Election Day, the ones that read, "I VOTED". Here is the winning design:

And here's an image of me wearing that sticker after I voted this morning:

This past Tuesday, February 8, I received word that my son, Travis Atwater of Wichita, KS, had passed away. He was suffering from liver failure ad this doctors were not offering much hope, but we were hoping and praying that he would make it.

Yesterday evening in Wichita, by the Arkansas River just across from the Mid American All Indian Center, a memorial celbration and balloon launch was held in Travis’ honor. A good number of his friends and family showed at 6pm, right around local sunset, to pay tribute to Travis Atwater.

Travis was always a big Dallas Cowboys fan. In keeping with that, it was suggested that everyone wear blue and silver, or blue and white, for the memorial I and my friend and roommate Beckt Wisdon (pictured above) went out and bought Cowboys t-shirts to wear ther. (Under our jackets, of course - it was kind of cold then!)

Travis’ wife Deanna was actually estranged from him at the time of his passing, but they had never divorced and in fact she was the one who planned the memorial. She prepared a large card for us all to sign.

Becky and I prepared a collage of photos of Travis through the years. I searched my portable hard drive for images of my son and got them printed off at Walgreens. Becky’s daughter Felicia cut out white stars and Becky pasted them onto a blue posterboard (Dallas colors once again) and then pasted the photos onto that,

Deanna and I both posted announcements about the balloon launch on Facebook. A couple of my former high school classmates expressed concern that balloons were not safe for the environment, but the decision was made to go ahead with the balloon launch just the same.

The group of Travis’ friends and family started to gather around 5:30 Saturday evening and was a fairly large gathering by the time it officially started at 6:00pm. We started with a moment of silence, and then “Go Rest High on the Mountain” by Vince Gill was played. As the father of the deceased, I gave a short eulogy, and then Kenny Chesney’s :Knowing You” was played. Travis’ girlfriend and caregiver Shannon Gonzales gave a tribute to him, and then his cousin Shannon Atwater (who was really more like a brother to him) shared his memories. The song “Dancing in the Sky” by Dani and Lizzie was played, and then we all releasd our balloons.

Travis was not any big community leader or corporate big shot, but he was a man who tried to make life better for the people in his life and in our community, and he will be sadly missed.

Does it seems to anyone else that this damn coronavirus is performing the virus equivalent of putting its thumbs against its head, sticking out its tongue and waving its fingers while chanting "NYAH NYA-NYA NYAH NYAHHH!!!"?

We've been battling this microscopic turd for two years now. We've identified variants and subvariants, developed vaccines and boosters, and done every damn thing shy of dropping an atomic bomb on it. And it STILL runs rampant... possibly more so than ever.

In the past few weeks the thing has infected a remarkable number of people in my circle of family and friends. My daughter-in-law Deanna and my granddaughter McKenzie (age 10) tested positive for it. My sister Carol and her daughter Rachel tested positive (and both of them had received vaccines AND the booster shot). Shannon, my son's friend, has children who tested positive for it. My friend and co-worker Janis tested positive for it last week when earlier in the week she'd tested negative -- and she has other health problems and did not need this crap. Then two days ago at the hotel, I had to cancel a reservation made by a caregiver whose patient gave it to her and put her in quarantine.

Two months ago (or about three posts ago if you prefer) I reported that my ex-wife, Teresa Calton, passed away from complications due to COVID-19. Last month, our adult som Travis was hospitalized with the symptoms of jaundice and other concerns (he in fact tested positive for COVID while there) and was released with the warning that he was to take in Zero alcohol.

Last Thursday I received word that he was back in the hospital because his liver had shut down and his kidneys were shutting down. I have visited him twice since then. Apparently he has been given some medicine that has brought about some improvement in his kidneys. His liver, however, is beyond the ability of medicine to restore.

Travis turned 37 in September. I have learned from his wife that his alcohol problem was much worse than I realized. He is not eligible for a liver transplant until he has been free of alcohol for sic months, which would be about five months from now.

The lyrics of this song are not all applicable to Travis: his mother is no longer with us, and Schultz seems to be singing about a child rather than an adult son.

Uhhhh...

My, how times have changed.

When I was a pre-teen and young teen (and admittedly that was half a century ago), “cornhole” had a meaning that... well, you sort of didn’t say the word around your parents, teachers, clergy or anyone else who might get you into trouble.

I checked it out, and apparently now “Cornhole” is the name of a game called such things as corn toss, bean toss, soft horseshoes, Indiana horseshoes, and probably some more. The game itself is a favorite at locally-done street fairs and carnivals. There is even an American Cornhole organization.